


Regret

by PoemsOfLou



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment, ambrollins - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Sadness, ambrollins - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemsOfLou/pseuds/PoemsOfLou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sudden loss makes Seth want to make amends. Too bad it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Written in first person from Seth's POV.
> 
> For full effect, listen to "State of Grace," by The Kays. I listened to it while I wrote it.   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwT3sngWtsY
> 
> Hope you enjoy~

I stared through the glass. Trying not to see him like that, yet unable to tear my eyes away. Trying not to feel, yet unable to stop the quivering of my chest. My eyes welled with tears that fell silently, freely, down my face. My shaking hands stayed at my sides, yet I longed to raise them. To bang on the glass. My voice remained silent, yet I longed to scream. To cry out. To try and wake him up. 

How could this be happening?

The call took me by surprise. “...Yes, this is Seth Rollins. ... No, Dean Ambrose and I are no longer together. ... What do you mean I’m his only emergency contact? What’s this about? ... I...I’m on my way…”

News of the accident would air the next morning.

As I stared into his room, a doctor attempted to inform me about his condition. Her words sounded muffled. Far away. Garbled in the mess of thoughts crowding my mind. Something about a hemorrhage. Head trauma. Massive internal cerebral bleeding. Unable to look away from the man lying in the bed in the room in front of me, I could barely concentrate on anything she was saying. It was all a complete blur. Yet somehow, the words “brain dead” managed to reach me loud and clear.

Brain dead.

I’ll never forget the way those words sounded in that moment. The way they made me feel. The way they dropped a three-ton boulder on my already breathless lungs. The way they wrapped around my heart, making it nearly impossible for it to beat.

Brain dead.

She told me I could go inside, to pay my last respects. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down standing outside; I didn’t imagine I’d have any hope at all of holding it together if I went in.

Dean...

I knew that eventually, my mind would plague me with thoughts of regret. Thoughts of hatred and self-loathing. Thoughts of agonizing pain and sadness. Thoughts of the memories I once shared with the man lying motionless in the hospital bed before me. But in that moment, I couldn’t feel any of it. As I stepped closer to my former flame, my body seeming to move in slow motion, as if through quicksand, all I could feel was disbelief. They had to be wrong. Dean was just sleeping. There’s no way that he was...

But the words echoed through my mind. Loud and clear.

Brain dead.

Using every last ounce of strength in my body, I slowly reached out a trembling hand, ever so gently placing it on his chest. He was breathing. Maybe... My small flicker of hope was quickly extinguished with the realization that the machines were breathing for him. It wasn’t Dean breathing. His heart was beating, but he wouldn’t wake up. It was almost cruel how his body was outwardly showing all the signs of life, when in reality, there was no hope of him recovering.

Brain dead is dead.

Another wave of tears squeezed from my eyes. There was so much to do. So much that shouldn’t be my responsibility, but with him having no other family, who else would do it? All my inevitable feelings of regret would have to wait. I couldn’t do what needed to be done if all I could think about was how much I wish I could go back and change everything I had done wrong. Everything I had done to hurt him.

A few minutes later, I found myself outside the hospital, still quivering with suppressed sobs, listening desperately for a response to my phone call. “Roman...” My voice sounded foreign, like it had been years since I last spoke or heard my own voice. “It’s Seth. Please don’t hang up. I need to tell you something.”

Brain dead is dead.


End file.
